


Becoming

by Sidonie



Series: The King's Squire [6]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Gen, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidonie/pseuds/Sidonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zahir's darker side catches up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape This Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is its own ficlet, but they are loosely connected. Inspired by "Animal I Have Become," by Three Days Grace, and each chapter begins with some lyrics. Very dark, dealing with the hazing Zahir participated in. Can be read on its own, but is part of my King's Squire series; see my fic "Proposal" for an explanation.

_“I can't escape this hell/So many times I've tried”_

\-----

Every word was carefully chosen, each phrase crafted. The arch expression, the smug tone, the wide, relaxed stance and the crossed arms, all a creation, an insubstantial illusion waiting to be revealed. Every moment took constant effort, attention to detail, an almost compulsive need to appear calm, controlled, respectable.

Still, men dismissed him. Still, he walked through Corus as an outsider, heckled by street vendors who didn't expect him to be familiar with the complex barter of the city. Still, nobles muttered about political choices, savages, and uglier words behind closed doors.

Zahir gritted his teeth and bore it, building his defenses stone by stone, detaching from his Bazhir self. He forgot his childhood, ignored his customs, refused to speak his native tongue.

Still, every night he opened himself to the Voice, and the warm touch of Jon's consciousness smoothed away the damage he had done. And every night Zahir seethed in fury and went about severing his ties once more.


	2. This Nightmare

_“Somebody get me through this nightmare/I can't control myself”_

\-----

Zahir remembered with perfect clarity the moment he had first felt accepted among his peers. He, Joren, and their friends had been teaching Keladry of Mindelan a lesson in respect, and suddenly he was no longer the progressive political choice, the controversy, the bottom of the ladder. The power was intoxicating, and still he found himself snarling at the pages he encountered, dashing books from their hands or sending them on impossible errands. It affirmed his always-precarious position, a welcome security.

When the king first discovered his behavior, there was a lecture. Then another. And another. After a while, the words dwindled away to become reproving glances, those blue eyes surrounded by etchings of sorrow and regret. Zahir felt sick every time Jon looked at him like that, but the familiar patterns were all too easy to fall into.


	3. Darkest Side

_“So what if you can see the darkest side of me”_

\-----

“Get out.”

Jon settled beside his squire on the floor, his expression grave. “No.” He paused, the corners of his mouth deepening in grief. “You knew he couldn't handle Dusk.”

“He's just a _gelding_!”

“And a spirited one. I would prefer we skipped the excuses. There are none for forcing a new page to groom a squire's large, difficult mount. It was reckless, callous, and dangerous.”

Zahir gave a strangled sob, clutching his head in his hands. “The little idiot wouldn't show any respect,” he whispered roughly.

Jon ignored the remark. “Baird says he will live, but his mind may never be the same. Rest assured, if I could bring you up on charges for this, I would. But as far as the law is concerned, there is no evidence of coercion.” He put a hand on his squire's shoulder, his grip nearly bruising. “This stops now, under pain of the most terrible retribution I can exact.”

He went, leaving Zahir to weep in solitude.


	4. The Real Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned out tonally very different from the rest. I apologize if it's jarring, but I needed a break from the angst.

_“Help me believe it's not the real me”_

\-----

“The Bazhir delegate brought his sons with him. I need you to entertain them.”

It had seemed innocuous enough, said in Jon's clear, reasonable, kingly tone. Now, covered in straw, a metal bucket over his head, clutching a drooping daffodil, Zahir cursed his knight-master's newest attack on his sense of dignity. Any moment now a company of the Own would walk by, and then he would never hear the end of it.

“Five, four, three,” he called, his voice echoing weirdly in the bucket. “Two, one . . . here I come!” He stood, pulling off the odd helmet. Almost immediately, he saw Jon at the entrance to the stables, leaning against the door with an amused smile.

“By all means, don't let me interrupt.”

His squire sighed, pulling handfuls of hay and straw from his tunic. “Don't worry. They always hide in the same places, so it's good to let them wait for a bit.”

Jon flashed a grin, which Zahir surprised himself by returning. “What's the purpose of the flower?”

“I honestly don't know. They said it was magic.”

Moving to stand beside him, the king plucked a bit of straw from his hair. “Children have a way of bringing out the best in us.”


	5. Somebody Help Me

_“Somebody help me tame this animal I have become”_

\-----

“Jon?”

The king turned to face his squire. “What is it?”

Zahir bit his lip, his dark gaze pained. He took several deep breaths, casting his eyes around the room, searching desperately for something to distract him. Jon remained still, waiting for the moment when the younger man's stare returned to fix on his knight-master.

“I—I want to be—” He swallowed hard, a small, hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. “Help me be better,” he finally whispered, so quietly it was barely audible.

With a comforting smile, Jon pulled Zahir into his arms. No more words were necessary.


End file.
